


Duet

by Skull_Bearer



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Bickering, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Music, Musician!Newt, People at the end of the world have hobbies too, adorable bickering scientists, composer!Hermann, like a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skull_Bearer/pseuds/Skull_Bearer
Summary: NOUN- A performance by two singers, instrumentalists, or dancers.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Oblivion_Wanderer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblivion_Wanderer/gifts), [geode](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geode/gifts).



God only knows where Newt got the keyboard.

Hermann eyes it balefully as Newt sets it up, bouncing around his corner of the lab and fumbling in plug sockets and cord extensions and oh _Gott_ he'd thought the drums had been bad enough and now _this_.

Newt looks up, now and again, quick flashes of coy, eager eyes over his glasses to see how Hermann is taking this new threat to his serene, controlled working environment. Daring him to protest, so Newt can point out that this is _his_ side of the room, and if Hermann can make horrible sounds with his chalks, _he_ can-

Hermann grits his teeth, and refuses to let a sound out. He stares at his screen as though engrossed in his familiar calculations, and wonders if his eyes may be about to burn a hole through the LCD display.

Newt turns back to the keyboard with a shrug, and for all Hermann is only watching from the corner of his eye, he does wonder if his labmate's joy at the acquisition is- dampened, somewhat. There's a slackness to the his shoulders, a slight mechanic motion to his hands as he runs them over the keys.

Hermann shoves down the dull sag of dismay at the sight, and part of him is hovering, half demanding Hermann gets out of his chair and go to Newt and- his leg twinges angrily and he cuts the guilty thoughts off. Newt will be finding new ways to irritate him in no time at all, he should treasure these quiet moments.

He doesn't quite manage.

 

* * *

 

 

Any further development of the keyboard situation is interrupted by a Kaiju, rearing out of the Pacific just outside of Shanghai. It takes down Behemoth Iron before being put down and for weeks the lab roils with the stench of dead Kaiju and other, viler fluids and Hermann retreats to his unused quarters, unable to be anywhere near Newt, regardless how often he washes.

Finally, however, the specimens are too decayed for even Newt to find anything appealing about them and Hermann walks into the nostril-searing acridity of disinfectant, and the sight of Newton plugging in his keyboard.

Well, it was inevitable. Hermann turns his back firmly, and wonders why in _Himmel_ _Gott_ had not given humans earlids as well as eyelids.

The first chord rings out, low and clear and Hermann fights down a sigh and the urge to turn around. He can't complain just yet, he has to wait until Newt has become too obnoxious for words, then he can make a recording of the din and file it with yet another official noise complaint. The drum one had at least worked.

The chord sounds again, joins a second and swells up to a third and more. It's shapeless music, wavering and pointless as unravelled string, Hermann draws in his sigh under the sound and readies his small recording device, his thumb hovering over the button to switch it on.

But the composition doesn't progress past this, a low, quavering wandering of notes from scale to scale. Nothing precisely recognisable but not, for all Hermann's intentions, _unpleasant._ He turns for a moment, ostensibly to get a cup of tea, and catches sight of Newt frowning over the keyboard, utterly absorbed in the odd little music he is making.

The knot in Hermann's stomach ebbs a little, and he fills two cups of hot water, drops a teabag in his, and takes the other over to Newt.

Newt blinks at the mug, jolted back to the present. "Wha-"

"Do not ask me to go anywhere near the- the _unhygienic_ receptacle where you keep your coffee." Hermann shudders. "Are these grounds from the cafeteria?"

"Yeah, mostly." Newt gets up and stretches, the old shirt he wears pulling up, just cresting the top of his belt and showing a pale, thin line of uninked skin. Hermann swallows, his hands itch. Newt sees him staring and grins. "You use your teabags like, eight times, dude. Don't blame me for being fucking broke."

Hermann gets a soft kiss for the water anyway, and Newt wanders over with the mug, spoons some of his revolting grounds into the mug and stirs; Hermann turns away, pulling a face.

 

* * *

 

 

The music continues. Not everyday, but sometimes Newt's hit a dead end with his research or there are no specimens coming in or the internet is down _again_ and they can barely do anything and Hermann writes as small as he can to keep from filling his blackboards and Newt plays.

Sometimes there are fragments repeated, snatches of rhythm Newt replays over and over as if to make some sense out of them and Hermann finds himself reaching for the recorder again, not for a complaint but to- capture this, or that. Some favoured air he looks forward to when Newt pulls out the little keyboard and starts a session.

It takes him suddenly humming a few bars to himself when getting them breakfast to make Hermann decide that enough is enough.

That day, when Newt puts his hands to the keys, Hermann is ready. There are so many cables running around the lab that one more snaking under the warning tape and up into Newt's desk is not noticed. Hermann switches on his computer, and waits.

Newt forms his usual airs, the music sweeping and arcing and reforming and changing as mindlessly as the patterns of waves on a beach. Variations on a theme without ever trying to find out what the theme is. Hermann waits, watches the waves and bars on his display jump and drop and steady and waver.

Newt stops after a few hours. "Yeah, I'm not getting anywhere." He informs no one in particular. He smiles at Hermann sleepily. "I'm gonna turn in dude, coming?"

Bed. Bed with Newton. Sleepy Newt, all pliant arms and sleepy smiles and warm, warm treasures of unmarked skin Hermann can hunt down and squirrel away all to himself. He shakes his head regretfully, "Some of us have work to do."

"Yeah, I know it's stupid to hope for another attack, but- yeah." Newt wanders over and Hermann quickly minimises his work before Newt sees. He gets a kiss on the back of his neck, on the soft hair where his undercut is starting to grow out. "You need a haircut, dude."

"This coming from the man who cuts his with a lawnmower-" Hermann turns, and gets a kiss to his lips for his troubles. Newt smiles sleepily and _Gott_ , Hermann loves him like this and wants nothing more than to let his little project go hang and-

He kisses back, and then turns back around. "I will see you later. Sleep well."

"Don't be too long." And with that, Newt goes.

Hermann sighs and his breath fills up the lab and echoes uncomfortably around him in the still, stagnant silence.

Well. He had better do his best to fill it, then.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermann isn't sure how long it is until Newt comes back. He has had to move to a new teabag from his precious stash after the last one was giving him nothing but faintly flavoured water, and the rim around his mug is dark with fresh tea stains. He frowns at Newt. "You are meant to be sleeping."

"Uh, yeah." Newt frowns at him, hands set on his hips. "I did dude, for eight hours. I kinda was expecting you to come for some of it."

"Oh." Hermann blinks, his eyes feel dry and raw. He looks at the clock, it is nearly six in the morning and the day is wrong. "I was- engaged."

"Yeah, kinda figured." Newt wanders over. "You coding a new kind of Jaeger or something, 'cause I was all ready to give you a blowjob last night and-" He breaks off, staring over Hermann's shoulder.

Well, never mind. It's ready enough. "I thought _someone_ should make something useful from that- featureless noise you insist on filling our lab with." Hermann smiles, and selects the final piece. "Please, in the future try and play something _coherent."_

The speakers he has are poor, crackling at the high notes, but it should be enough to give Newt the gist. The music starts low, then climbs, mitre by mitre and chord by chord and fills the lab like a cathedral. It sways, dances, expands and shrinks but never loses the single, gleaming strand Hermann had spent all night and morning unearthing. It dazzles through every note, rises clear and fresh as the dawn outside, following from the first depth all the way through to the final, shimmering flourish, hanging in the air alone for a long moment until it too, finally fades.

The silence of the lab seems warmer for having held it there. Hermann turns, raises a stiff eyebrow and blinks salted eyes. Smiles.

Newt is grinning, just as fierce and bright as that last final note that Hermann's heart suddenly clenches at the thought of losing him too, and he reaches out to catch his hand. "You utter prat." Newt swoops in and kisses him. "You're a complete idiot, you know that?"

"I know I make a better musician than you." Hermann leans back, weary body relaxed and easy.

Newt's eyes spark, his mouth opens over neat, white teeth, eager to sink into this new argument.


End file.
